Santos One: The King Is Dead, Long Live The King
by Fixomnia Scribble
Summary: Leo McGarry's wake didn't end with coffee in the Bartlet's parlour. Post-Episode for "Requiem".


Santos One: The First Four Years

RATING: PG-13 to Adult (This chapter PG-13 for language)

CATEGORY: Post-series novel, politics, flashback, romance

SPOILERS: Everything's fair game

DISCLAIMER: In the unlikely event that fanfic is ever hailed as a commercial or artistic threat, I'll become a lawyer. We do what we love, an it harm none.

SUMMARY: A novel spanning the four years following the Bartlet Administration. Keep the flame alive!

Author Notes: "Santos One" begins just after the election, since transition is a vital part of an incoming administration's governance. I wanted to tie up some loose ends and weave in some new threads before throwing the White House doors open to the new administration. So we begin just after Leo's wake, when old friends and new gather for a moment to rest and reflect, to contemplate the past eight years and consider the next, and what it will mean in their lives.

******************************

The King Is Dead; Long Live The King

******************************

"I said, no, no, we haven't caught any fish yet, and we're not going back until we _fill up_ this bucket…"

Abbey let the sound of her husband's voice wash over her. Watching Jed turn raconteur during an evening session with staff was a favourite pastime. Watching the years fall away from the prematurely weary faces of their young friends as they responded to his presence was a close second.

Power-Democrats or not, they had never seemed more like a family of hyperachieving siblings than they did tonight. So often united in political machinations, tonight they came together out of love and respect for Leo McGarry, and to celebrate a hard-won miracle campaign, as homecoming comrades from the wars.

Leo would have liked the analogy, she thought. He knew better than anyone in the room what it meant to cover one's fellows under fire. There were so many days when dodging bullets was the best they could do, days when scrambling above politics to build a stronger future seemed a distant dream, when it became physically painful to be reminded of the mission they had undertaken in good faith.

"…and pretty soon, fish are rising to the surface all round…"

Abbey blinked and looked around the circle of familiar faces. Jed held court, as every room became that had him in it. Josh gave little Annabeth his wordless support with an arm around her shoulders. Charlie, every inch a young man his mother would have – should have – been proud to see. Next to him, Will, gracious and quiet, watched silently from the edge of the group, as did Debbie. CJ wore her camera face, in need of a good cry, but still indomitable, Donna a serene, steadying force beside her.

She paused to observe the two women, light and dark, capable of more deviousness in concert than her own daughters.

CJ could have been one of Abbey's own sisters: driven to success by an inner restlessness and a deep need to be useful. Impatient with the foibles of others, but too caring not to wade in when others were in harms' way. In her short tenure as Chief of Staff, she had become quiet and grave, even gentle, her old acerbic self banked with ashes. As their terms in the White House came to an end, Abbey hoped that their friendship, usually the stuff of high comedy, would outlast the stressful balancing act of the two women who each needed every remaining scrap of the President's energy.

And who would have taken Donna for an old soul, when she appeared in the campaign office, more foundling than volunteer, all those years ago? Given the opportunity, her intuitive knack for cutting to the point and her disdain for false ceremony had set them straight time after time. The first time Donna had joined them socially in this room, she had given her First Lady an old-fashioned tongue-lashing. The memory still brought a tug to Abbey's lips. Donna had stammered an apology, but Abbey soon showed her how the Bartlet White House repaid those who spoke truth to power, with a fanfare of her own.

_"What's with the Canuckistan anthem?" someone had asked, passing behind the First Lady. "Who's the blonde?"_

"Never seen her before." said his companion. "The Canadian Ambassador's kid, maybe, or the Prime Minister's. Montreal must've just made the finals."

"Oh, probably."

In a few short years, the invisible staffer had become a household name. Pundits suggested she was window-dressing, a pretty girl from Middle America to show that not all Democratic women were west-coast hippies and east-coast liberal-arts professors, but Donna, with her easy grip on issues that spoke to people's hearts, her good-natured retorts and that fabulous smile, had won them over.

Abbey looked towards Josh, making a mental note of his underslept eyes and skinny wrists. He'd been white-faced and nervy after Donna quit to work for Vice President Russell, furious and completely cut adrift from his moorings. Abbey's heart ached for them. She'd been rooting for them silently for years, locked in an impossible orbit around one another.

How well she understood Donna's needing to breathe, to remember who she was, away from the admirable, relentless man to whom she had lost her whole heart. Honestly, how those two ever pushed aside enough of their emotional backlog to be able to pull off a national coup was—

Josh, noticing Annabeth sagging and near to tears, glanced up towards Donna, who looked up as sharply as if he'd called her name. Donna raked her eyes over Annabeth, and reached over to tap CJ's wrist. CJ followed Donna's gaze and signaled silent agreement.

_Oh, Annabeth,_ thought Abbey, realization dawning. _If only we'd known. This whole thing must be a living nightmare for her. I wondered…I thought maybe Jordan had come back..._

I should find a way of telling her Leo's happiness was obvious to everyone who loved him... 

Donna surreptitiously checked her watch, and when she looked up, Josh held her gaze for a long, grateful moment.

Abbey glowed. The Sisterhood remained strong, and Josh had grown up somewhere along the way.

"Well, everybody," she said, "I think we better call it a night."

Donna wasted not a moment in making her goodnights and hurrying after Annabeth. Josh looked once more drowned in thought, and trailed behind to speak with Jed.

_Would he tell?_ Abbey wondered. She fussed with the coffee tray at the far end of the room so Josh wouldn't see the incongruous excitement on her face. She and Jed had agreed to let Josh's state of mind be the deciding factor.

But Josh, as he politely mumbled her name in farewell, was practically glazed over with grief and exhaustion so deep that had he been one of hers, she would have personally marched him to a guest room far, far out of reach of ringing phones.

Jed had kept his silence.

Smiling, she looped her arm through her husband's, and they walked slowly down the corridor.

* * * * *

Josh pushed open the Visitor's Gate, and listened to the shrill squeak. Strange, since everything else was kept in top trim. Maybe it provided extra security for sleepy guards on the graveyard shift.

He had sidestepped Danny's invitation to come and bemoan the loss of Piazza to the Padres over replays and beer. While he enjoyed the occasional rap with the reporter, he wasn't in the mood for commiserating over cold beds, or having to think about staying on message. Until Danny followed through with his hints of retiring from the media, the hanging-out would have to be kept to office hours.

He walked a few paces, and stopped to looked back. His breath caught at the sight, as it did in the beginning, years ago when he still felt like a young man. The White House looked exactly how it was supposed to look: mighty, unbreakable, vigilant. A place where some of the most important decisions in the world were made.

A place where every word he spoke as Chief of Staff would have the potential to echo around the globe, with no Leo to keep him flying straight.

A few reporters wrapped up their eleven o'clock stand-ups. Passers-by lingered, too, as the chilly night deepened, walking slowly up and down the fence covered in flowers, posters, candles, messages and sundries, in tribute to a statesman and veteran of military and personal wars, who had won mass respect, even among his detractors.

An elderly businessman, well-bundled against the night, removed his hat as he approached, and paused to look at the offerings. As Josh watched, the man reached into the pocket of his overcoat, and withdrew a small item that glittered in the light of candles and streetlamps. Even from fifteen feet away, Josh recognized the shape of a pair of Air Force wings. The vet stood turning the wings over in his hand for a moment, and then stooped with some difficulty and tucked them into the largest of the military wreaths that lined the fence.

_One of Leo's cohort?_ Josh wondered. _Hell of a gesture._ He took a step towards the vet, but sensing him, the man straightened up and walked away into the dark.

Swallowing hard for the umpteenth time that day, Josh wished he had something he could do to mark Leo's passing. As Leo's Chief Pallbearer, he had done a son's duty, but short of helping bear that small weight to its resting place, he had no other responsibility. He was restless with it. It had been hard enough sitting with old friends and new colleagues, witnessing the end of an Administration, and being shoved into the next. It was too poignant an illustration of the transience of all things.

_"You're the future,"_ Bartlet had said. But far from being touched, Josh felt empty. He had known three fathers in his life, and only one of them was left now, his mind crystal clear while the nerves of his body increasingly failed him.

Only Donna, who had been the messenger of two deaths, understood how deeply the terror of that loss resonated in him. She had held him together with her soft words, her arms around him and the grounding warmth of her skin against his bare back, as he shivered in his hotel bed.

_"You never let him down. You never did, Josh. You were more than a good son. You made him believe when he stopped believing."_

He had rolled over, pulling her against his chest. She touched the tear-tracks on his face, and wept with him, Donna, who never cried in front of him.

He was glad she wasn't alone tonight, even if she seemed to have her usual inexplicable handle on everyone's reactions, including her own. At this moment, in Leo's old office, she and CJ would be comforting Annabeth. It probably involved a lot of hugging, kleenex, and at least one bottle from the case of Boizel Chanoine that Leo had presented to CJ on her promotion to Chief of Staff.

Josh wasn't envious, exactly, but there was a definite void. If Sam had been able to get away, and if Toby were not…_Toby_, they would all have been at the White House tonight, the whole mismatched family, and probably ended up pretending to be drunker than they were, over at the Hawk & Dove. Their usual round table in the back had witnessed so many world-owning triumphs and horrible self-flagellations, in vino more or less veritas, that he'd often wondered why no one had wired the table for sound.

They would have talked about the incoming Santos administration, and found ways to reference, while avoiding actual mention, of Leo's legacy of knowledge, integrity, sheer doggedness and appreciation of quality and simplicity that had seeped into each of them, into their decisions and relationships and into themselves.

But no.

_"Telling me fucking what?" Toby had yelled down the phone, as if his great, dark reserve of anger was the only emotion he hadn't burned clean through in the past month._

"Josh, my God. How's Mallory? Have you got Donna with you?" Sam had asked, over a disarmingly clear cellphone line from California. "Listen, I'll try…"

He glanced again at the White House. Whatever the foreseeable future held, it was all contained within that building. If he was lucky he might have one or two days in a thousand after which he could feel like he'd accomplished something good and lasting, without selling the better parts of his soul.

He checked his watch. Not yet eleven o'clock. It was the earliest night he'd had in a year, but sleep was a long way off yet. He doubted he could stand sitting still at home, either.

Time for a Memorial moment, he decided, which was fitting enough. He hitched up his backpack, forgot about retrieving the mysterious Air Force wings, and wandered off to contemplate his lot at the feet of Honest Abe.

* * * * *

From the raised voices behind the door, Ronna inferred that Congressman Fields was being dumped. Congressman Sellner, who made no secret of his disdain of Santos, would be handed the House Majority Speakership by an overwhelming margin, once Fields stepped down. To blow off such a loyal, vocal supporter with nothing in return felt like dirty politics. And they hadn't even started.

The door opened, and Fields swept out of the Transition Office suite. If the Congressman saw Ronna at her desk, he gave no indication. She was glad. Fields was a good guy, and she didn't want to have to look him in the eye. She'd have liked him to know she was pretty pissed on his behalf. But Fields hadn't garnered popular support for a job two steps down from the Presidency by ignoring quick glances and subtle vibes.

_"Believe me, when you see the scope of the decisions he has to make every minute, you'll be glad you're not one of his senior advisors," Debbie had told her, over a cup of coffee at their first meeting, the previous afternoon. "Don't underestimate the role. You're one of the two safe people the President will have in the entire world. The other is his wife - most of the time. Presidents don't choose their personal secretaries because of their filing skills. They choose them for one reason only: total trust. If he has the flu, if he and Mrs. Santos are in couples therapy, if he's making military decisions on no sleep at all, you might be the only other human being to know about it. It's going to be plenty surreal_

"For both of us," Ronna admitted, "He's always treated me like a long-time staffer, even when I was an intern. It's not the role – it's just that I'm a political assistant by training, not an executive assistant. It's going to be hard not to try to advise him on policy, or start debating bills with him out here in the anteroom

"There are ways to do both without appearing to do either. You'll figure it out. You don't want anyone hearing the President and his Executive Secretary arguing politics, but if anyone does, be sure to find a potential way to embarrass them before they leave the building. Have another Marie biscuit." 

_Total trust…_ Ronna repeated silently.

"Roxsana!" Santos called.

She snapped back, and sprinted for the inner office. "Yes, sir?"

"Be a sounding board, would you?"

Ronna nodded and stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind her.

"The White House has been informed of Congressman Fields' decision to remove himself from the Majority Speakership race."

He looked at her.

"Sir, are you asking for my – "

"What's the first thing you do when you hear it?"

Ronna wouldn't look him in the eye. "It makes me question why."

"Perfect."

"Sir?"

"Think. It's a single fact. Spin it."

She breathed deeply and forced her overtired mind to work.

"I know you're mad," Santos said. "This was pure politics. I'm pretty mad too, except that it was the only course of action to make the next few years liveable."

"You _want_ them to ask why," she said finally, "You want them to see that you'd rather deal with an opponent out in the open than a friend in a closed room, right out of the gate. 'Cause we're younger and greener than the Bartlet Administration, and more than half the staff are continuing on. Cronyism and inside favours would kill us."

Santos rested his elbows on the desk and leaned forward heavily. "You've got the gist of the domestic side. I'd still consider giving Tim a cabinet post and deal with a three-seat Democratic House Majority, if it ended there. But this goes way beyond friendship or the confidence of the public. I'm going to need your help. Sit down a minute."

She did so.

"Sir, you've never done anything like this."

"Not at this level, no. This is very far from Congress. We didn't expect to be walking into this so early in the job. Ronna, you understand that we're about to send a hundred and fifty _thousand_ troops into a crisis zone? We've been billing this as a potential peacekeeping mission, but the reality is that we're one phone call from a war we're not prepared for, very close to three other international hotspots we're already involved with. We're going to have to pull nearly twenty thousand troops from the Gaza strip alone, and at least five thousand more from the Golan Heights, which is going to put a major dent in President Bartlet's peace-accord schedule. We've already sent another team of diplomats to Kashmir. And, training footage aside, I don't have a lot of military clout. Josh was trained by two elder statesmen, and I'm a health-and-education spouting ex-serviceman who's done one single tour of duty over the Persian Gulf. We've got the best advisors in the world, but it's my face that'll be giving the orders. If I don't start off as General Hardass here at home, I'll have nothing to negotiate with. And we cannot, we can_not_ let this situation deteriorate into hostilities". He tapped the desk in emphasis.

"Okay."

There wasn't much more to be said.

"We may be a country at war on more than two fronts, in a very short time. I need you to start thinking like a soldier now. The assistants will know that you have the big picture, and they'll look to your example. I didn't ask you to be my exec because of your phone manner. _You're the one I need sitting outside my door_, for them and for me."

She cleared her throat and tried to speak strongly. "Yes, sir."

"So here's what we do tonight. In a few minutes, when Fields gets back to his office, he's going to call his people. They're going to call Sellner's people. Then both of them will call the media. That statement I gave you has to be the only thing out of this office. Pass it to Donna right away and let her deal with seeding it. We'll make a single statement at the first briefing and that's it."

"And in the meantime, CNN will be have been playing the statement over and over during office hours in China and Kazakhstan."

"I think we can count on that."

Ronna realized that her hands were shaking slightly, and that Santos had noticed it as well.

"Just the one call, and then you go get some rest."

"Yes, sir."

"You freaked out?"

"That's going to take a little while. But I appreciate your talking to me about it."

"There'll be a lot more talking. A lot more. You'll be okay getting back to the hotel?"

"Seems to me there are worse things in the world tonight than having to call a cab, sir."

"Yeah." Santos rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed, "Yeah, but take care of yourself anyway, okay?"

The phone began ringing in the outer office. Santos nodded for her to answer it.

"President-Elect's Office."

"Miss Beckman. I rather thought you'd still be open for business." said a familiar gravelly voice.

"Congressman Sellner."

"Tell the President-Elect to keep his friends close. I commend Congressman Field's difficult decision. That will be my last word on the matter, to him and to the press."

She relayed Sellner's message to Santos, and was surprised to see him smile grimly.

"_And my enemies closer_, is what he meant," Santos finished, "God. Not even sworn in yet, and I'm already wishing for a trap door. I can't build one in the floor, can I?"

"'Fraid not, sir." Ronna managed a small smile. Santos knew it was for his benefit, and smiled back.

* * * * *

"Oh, God! And what did the Ambassador do?" Annabeth gasped for breath. The wad of tissues in her hand spoke of earlier tears, but the three women were, for the moment, floating on champagne and hysteria.

CJ, tucked up on the couch, gave an un-Chiefly snort of laughter and gestured with her wine glass. "Margaret let her cool her heels in here for five minutes, then offered her about thirteen different drinks while she waited for the President to finish up with Leo. I guess the total silence in the Oval was a hint. Dear Nadia got up and left not long afterwards."

"Margaret said the best part was watching the President peek out from the Oval and give Leo the all-clear," Donna added.

"Is this really how we keep the peace?"

"Not with a bang but a stood-up lunch date," CJ agreed.

"We managed one real lunch date out in public, like normal people," Annabeth said wistfully. "Of course, we couldn't call it that – but it was. We kept talking in plausible deniabilities. He's very talented with the double-entendre." Her eyes brimmed over again. "Was."

"Leo was so happy. It showed," Donna told her. She reached out to touch her arm, and Annabeth grasped her hand, taking a sudden breath.

"Donna, just promise me for Leo's sake that you and—"

Donna's cellphone chirped. "Sorry," she said, squeezing Annabeth's hand before letting go, and rummaging in the pocket of her coat. "Donna Moss. Hey, Ronna," she nodded silently and scribbled on a napkin as Ronna delivered her message. "Got it. I'll leak it to Sophie. We're just going to repeat this statement at first briefing? Thanks. You too."

She hung up and sighed. She turned back to Annabeth, who shook her head apologetically, back in command of herself. "Sorry. Out of line."

"Oh, Annabeth, no," Donna assured her.

CJ raised an amused eyebrow. "Can I ask?"

"Fields is rescinding his candidacy for Speaker. Sellner will get it, hands down. We're issuing a yes-we-know and walking away from it."

"That's all you can do." CJ let the change of topic slide, for the present. "The President-Elect must have taken it hard. He and Fields have been brothers in Congressional arms for years."

"Josh brought him around. The President-Elect, I mean." Donna said shortly. She looked up the number for Sophie Brown, one of her carefully cultivated tip-recipients at the _Post_. The temperature in the room dropped a couple of degrees as Donna relayed the statement, and added that she would have no further comment on the topic.

"And?" CJ prodded gently.

Donna took a breath and began, "The President-Elect is a very loyal person. Josh really had to take it to the wall. It wasn't…it wasn't a good scene, Josh said. But I think it's worked out okay."

"Ah!" CJ raised her wine glass, "The President-Elect is also a very _canny_ person. That was an opportunity not to miss. Point for him."

Annabeth looked up. "Opportunity? It's not like there was another choice."

"Think, you two. Of course the President-Elect knew he couldn't rally for Fields. He'd lose all credibility over the appearance of sycophancy. And what gauntlet did he throw down in front of Josh?"

Annabeth and Donna exchanged enlightened but slightly horrified glances. "You think so?" Donna asked.

"I think it was a good test, even if it walked in the door on its own legs," CJ replied. "It's very different laying it on the line to a candidate on the campaign plane, than to a President with all the trappings of power. He and Josh will have to find their balance all over again." She looked at the younger women.

Donna wasn't convinced. "Josh sees through political sleights-of-hand when he's half-asleep. He wouldn't have walked into that."

"There wasn't anything to walk into. President-Elect Santos just turned the mirror around."

There was a pause.

"Well, shit," said Annabeth.

* * * * *

Ronna was glad Cindy was already asleep when she slipped into bed.

She lay very still and watched her unclouded face for a long, long time.

* * * * *

"He reminded me that demons were created to wake the fighter in us, so we could learn to pick the right fights and do it well. He was a Rabbi to me more than once, the overdressed Mick."

"Rabbi McGarry," Josh let out a huff of amusement, "He would have loved that, but he'd never admit it."

"I know he was a real father to you, though." Toby continued, so quietly that Josh knew he must be standing in his guest room, watching Huck and Molly curled up together fast asleep. "How you doing? Really?"

"I don't even know." Josh said. He adjusted his position on the steps of the Lincoln Monument, and stared out at the flow of late-night DC traffic. "I mean, you're right. But what do you do? In a way I've been through this before. But this was…I was right there. Two floors above him. He couldn't even have had time to call anyone. Say what you want, but I put him there. I keep thinking it over. I just - I don't think he'd have signed onto the ticket if Santos had asked him. Or Will, or anyone."

"That was your job, Josh. To put a winning team together and make it work. Leo was responsible for himself. He wouldn't have agreed if it wasn't the best thing for the party."

"He'd just fallen in love. I mean, just. Few weeks ago."

"Oh, for the…why do you tell me these things?" Toby asked. "I don't have to look very far to fill in the blank, do I?"

"Not very." He paused. "His energy, it was like Leo from ten years ago."

"How's Annabeth?"

"I don't know if she's worse off than I am, or better for not having my job to deal with at the same time. That sounds awful. The girls are having a session in CJ's office right now."

"CJ must be..."

"Yeah."

"I'd call her if I could."

"She knows that. She knows."

There was an oddly comfortable silence.

"He would have been great." Toby said, at length. "He would have made the office of the Vice President meaningful and visible. He would have been an incredible help to Santos with Kazakhstan. And Afghanistan and Pakistan. But he also would have been the first one to tell you that anything that looks like a lock, you want to plan for it falling apart till it happens."

"Yeah." Josh sighed, and leaned his head against the pillar beside him.

"So, Baker?"

"I don't know. Probably. It'll give the Senate Republicans something to agree on. You think it's worth it?"

"I think he's strong on education, crime, health – international business and trade, obviously. He never served, but he's a world-renowned expert in technology development. Family's deeply religious without being nutty. He got a raw deal, but he won a lot of admiration for his honesty, and he's got the kind of integrity that drives Republicans up the wall. I'd say he's a lock for the nomination in eight years' time. Does that help?"

"Sure. Thanks."

"Josh?"

"Mm?"

"You know you sound awful? I'm not just being me. Have you thought about, you know…"

"I have, actually. Donna put Stanley on Josh-watch while I was pitching a fit over exit polling data." He scrubbed at his hair and wondered if the nearby guard was about to card him, scruffy as he must look. Black rings under his eyes, his overcoat dusty from the steps, and itchy five o'clock shadow emerging. "I have an appointment for Saturday. And the next Saturday."

"Funny you should mention that. So do I have an appointment on Saturday, and the next Saturday."

"That's not very funny."

"No, but a lot of Jews, Reform or otherwise, are hit just as hard as Leo's Catholic friends. I'm sure the Rabbi will be speaking about him. Seriously, you might want to come."

"Look, I appreciate you're being extra nice tonight. But would you ease the fuck up?" Josh asked tiredly.

"See, I would, but there was this guy once, fell into a hole. Josh, there are words of great wisdom, words that have carried comfort for centuries, and reminded us not to be made separate in our grief. They're there for the listening. Stuff Stanley wouldn't touch. This is not the time to hang around wallowing in slings and arrows and Oedipal associations. Think about it?"

"I'll think about it."

"You will?"

"I will." Josh promised.

* * * * *

"You were great tonight, hon," Abbey said, buttoning up Jed's pyjama shirt. She watched him more than she used to. She would never make him ask again.

Jed sent her a look of thanks and swung his legs stiffly up onto the bed. "Everyone was great. Extraordinary. Did you see Margaret at the wake? That's the kind of caliber he inspired, that got him…whatever he got."

"Elected Vice-President, I assume you mean,"

"Ah, Leo should've had my job."

"He did, some of the time."

"That's true. There's no denying it. You coming to bed?" Jed asked. He set his folded glasses on the nightstand.

"In a minute." Abbey walked into the bathroom. Muffled by a facecloth and the sound of water, she called back, "Josh doesn't know yet?"

"I'm pretty sure he doesn't. He'd have stayed behind to argue, if Mallory had so much as dropped a hint. We'll have them both over for dinner after the executor's reading."

"You think he'll be upset?"

"At first. Then when he's finishing protesting, Mal will step in and talk about the difference it'll make in his life."

"I give her credit for not being pissed."

"It's an awfully nice slice of pie for Josh, but she has nothing to complain about. She's got a thing about unearned lucre, anyway – we'll have some job convincing her to hold onto it for her kids' sake."

"Beth and Josie and the nieces will go on a regular tear, but only on principle."

"That's their right. Leo exercised his."

"Leo really did think of Josh as his son." Abbey crawled into bed and pulled the heavy blankets up to her neck, cuddling close to her husband.

"As do we, but you must admit it was also shrewd planning. He wanted to give Josh the incalculable advantage that he himself had."

"Oh, Josh would _never_ wear apricot silk. Though I'd like to see him in Saville Row," she sighed.

"Abigail Ann." Jed tapped her lightly on the nose and followed it with a peck. He wrapped his arms around her and continued thoughtfully: "That no matter what happened the day before, it was his choice to keep working. He could retire and live the easy life…or he could keep coming back to do what he was born to do."

"Or maybe he and Donna will just elope and –"

"Did those two finally –"

"Pretty sure."

"That's funny. I don't recall either one asking _my_ –"

"Sleep, dear. Breakfast with Governor Tillman in the morning."

"The hell he want with an obsolete old fart like me, anyway?"

"I think he wants to kick your ass for sending Sam Seaborn to California to kick _his_ ass."

"Ah. Environmental cleanup costs for San Andreo; to wit: how much of the tab am I making him pick up."

"I would imagine so."

Bartlet settled himself comfortably and closed his eyes.

"They'll have beautiful children." he said.

"Yes."

"Not as beautiful as ours."

"No."

"I hope I get to meet them," Jed murmured matter-of-factly.

He was asleep in minutes.

When she was certain, Abbey sat up against the headboard and kept watch as the tremors gradually left his body.

She wondered, not for the first time, what worlds that magnificent mind conceived when it dreamed, and what would happen when the dreams were all that remained.

* * * * *


End file.
